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My Mother and I Visit Chicago 2009

By

A. Rod Paolini

August 2009

Hotel 71

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Choosing to Visit Chicago

I normally make two trips each summer: to the reunion of my college fraternity,and to the reunion of the Daniels familymy mothers familyin Harmony, Minnesota. Ilove to spend time with my mother, but Harmony, Minnesota, population 1054, affordslittle diversion: a block long main street, two churches, and two cemeteries (Daniels inBig Springs and Harstadsmy grandmothers sidein Greefield). Lets meet inChicago, I offered but thinking that should be reticent. But she had no reservations:Okaywhen? was her reply.

Hotel 71 or the Executive House

My fraternity brother Rich Rosenberg dropped me off at the

hotelHotel71located at 71 E Wacker Drive in the heart of the city. It had been built inthe early 60's as a swank hotel called the Executive House. When I was working inChicago, I would often roam the Loop on my lunch hour and peruse the theater of lifebeing played on the streets. I remember gazing at this hotel and imaging that it cateredto the movers and shakers of Chicagos business class. And now I was staying here,though hardly a mover and shaker of anything.

Mixed Feelings About Chicago

My mother wasnt due to arrive by train until five oclock; so I had time to wanderabout and take some photographs of Chicagos amazing architecture and reflect uponmy feelings about Chicago which are mixed.

Chicago is my home town. It was the home town of my father whose familysettled here in 1906 after emigrating from Italy. My fathers stories of his childhood inChicago are as much a part of me as my own experiences. I often felt exasperated

when he related the same stories that I had heard before; now Ifeel sad that they will never be told again.

I became involved in politics in Chicago. After the riots ofthe 1968 Democratic Convention, many liberals in the citythought that a new form of politics was needed to counter theregular Democratic Party controlled by the machine of MayorRichard J. Daley. The form of this new politics was precinctoperations using volunteers to mirror but counter the patronageworkers of the machine. It was through this activity in late 1969that I met Kathleen Marie Donovan whom I married in 1971.

My first employment was with a private urban planningKathy & Rod (1971)

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firm, and then with the Model Cities agency which was subsequently combined with theNeighborhood Planning Organizations to form the Department of Human Services. Tobecome a city employee, I had to submit to the screening process of the machine:approval from my Democratic precinct captain. I was successful, and I was notimmediately asked to become a precinct worker; but three years later, I was tapped for

work. I did some precinct work but not very enthusiasticallystalling really until Kathyand I would move; but, in the guise of a reorganization, I was rifed--reduction-in-force.Wanting to work in the public sector and to be a player in the political life of the city, Iwas shut out. And so for this and other reasons, Kathy and Isought another city and settled in Reston.

Kathy and I had made friends in Chicagogood friends.They were friendships born during our formative yearsand hereI mean our twentiesand during the formative years of a newsociety: the feminist movement had freed men as well asliberated women, and I participated in two mens group during

this time. The loss of frequent contact with these friends is myonly regret in leaving Chicago.

Kathy and I return toChicago every few years in orderto visit these friends and also to visit her mother andsiblings around Bloomington, Illinois. On these visits toChicago, there is no avoiding these mixed emotions.But on this visit, I decided that it would be as though Iwere visiting a foreign citylike Naples or Romefor thefirst timeor perhaps a second time. While we wouldtour various places, the passage of time andconsequent changes would present us with new imagesthat it would be anew experiencethat would notdredge up thepast.

Meeting my Mother

I met my mother at Union Station,collected her luggage, and exited to the street tograb a taxi to the hotel. Canal Street is one-way, and as fate would have it, the taxi stand was on the other side. We crossed at the

Bridge Tower, MichiganAvenue

Trump Tower

35 E Wacker Drive lobby

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corner and then proceeded to the taxi stand in the middle of the block.

A taxi pulled up and I let go of my mothers arm in order to put her luggage in the trunk.Then I heard some woman exclaim, Oh dear! I turned around, and there was mymother lying face down on the sidewalk. I was stunned for a moment; she wasnt

moving at all. She had tripped on a strip of duct tapethat had been used to hold down a cord. The womanand I helped my mother to her feet. She was bleedingfrom the lip, so I fumbled in my bag for a handkerchiefand tried to help her into the taxi. Rather than urgingme to get her to the hotel, she wanted to report theincident to the police. She also complained that herfront teeth might have been knocked loose. Ivelearned, through hard experience, not to pressure mymother as to what to do. The best course is to askquestions and let her decide. She decided to proceed to

the hotel, and then call the police. In the hotel room, Ihad her lay down, went to the drug store to get somefirst aid supplies; then administered the first aid while also telephoning the police whosurprisingly did send a policewoman who made a report. Nothing further was doneabout the matter.

Needless to say our visit was off to a bad start. I was feeling guilty for havingfailed to safely escort my mother; and during the week my mother felt guilty for lookingsilly with a bloody lip. But we were to have wonderful days together, and so the thoughtof this incident receded.

The Art Institute of Chicago

Given the fact that our main activity would besightseeing, I thought that a wheelchair would enableus to see more of the city and reduce the stress andfatigue on my mother. I give myself credit here: I wascorrect. I rented a wheelchair from Carnegie-SargentPharmacy, and so Monday morning we rolled downMichigan Avenue to the Art Institute of Chicago.

This endeavor was for my mother primarily; anhour at an art gallery is usually my limit. But theInstitute had an exhibit entitled,A Case for Wine which portrayed the many aspects ofwineits making, storage, serving, indulging, over-indulging, and religious use. It wasfascinating though unfortunately I was prohibited from taking my own photographs so Ihave no evidence save a few images from the Institutes website.

Union Station interior

The Supper After the Masked Ball

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We then joined a guided tour entitled the Old Masters. Our docent described thehistory of each painting, the biography of each painter, and the artistic merits anddetails of a series of paintings. Im always amazed at people who get so much out of apicture while I often simply stare and wonder why this is so great.

The Institute is quite old though it now features a new addition that is larger thanthe original building; the two are connected by a walkway that serves as a bridge overtrain tracks (formerly the Illinois Central Railroad and now part of the Metra system).There are three levels plus a few intermediate levels, such as a mezzanine. There areelevators to each of these levels, but not every elevator reaches every level. Since theelevators were installed after the construction of the building, theyare not in conspicuous places as a hall or lobby, but within agallery, perhaps behind the statue of the Vishnu. Thus it becamea challenge similar to Dungeons and Dragons in which it wasnecessary to reach one level, traverse, then take another elevatorto the desired level. Sometimes I became so confused that I

unexpectedly returned to our starting point.

In our travails of this labyrinth, I came across a marvelousexhibit of building ornaments. After the Chicago Fire of 1871, andwith the development of the steel frame that enabled the skyscraper, Chicago became aleader in architecture. However, increases in land values demand increases in return, andso old buildings must give way to new. There is always a interest group formed to saveeach one of these gems; these ornaments are the remains of the losers.

Millennium Park

One of the great new attractions of Chicago is Millennium Park. Located adjacentto the Art Institute, it contains several art pieces, the most famous and photographedbeing the Crown Fountain and The Cloud Gate or otherwise known as the Cloudor theBean. There were many people in the fountain, mainly youngchildren, either under the stream of water, sliding or body surfingon the slick surface.

We sat in front of the Cloud Gate; my mother wasexhausted and so laid on a bench while I drank a lemonade andwatched the people amuse themselves by looking at theirreflection. Many seemed somewhat embarrassed to be looking atthemselves but also intriguedalmost fascinated. The kids madeoutlandish faces or contorted their bodies, then laughed orsquealed with delight.

We ended our tour of Millennium Park at the PritzkerPavilion, a very modern and abstract sculpture that serves as theodeon for the Grant Park concerts. To the south is the old James C. Petrillo bandshell. Iremember attending a few concerts with my parents and my grandmother Beatrice Paolini;

Building Ornament

Crown Fountain

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and later I accompanied her to some concerts a few years before she died. She attendedevery concert during the summer, and she arrived two hours early in order to get a seat inthe front row along with about a dozen cronies who probably had attended these concertsfor the past forty years.

An orchestra and opera singers were rehearsing, and so we sat on the lawn tolisten along with others who simply viewed the auditorium or wandered about the lawn.Three young girls, probably about eighteen years old, with rolled up pants and barefoot,began kicking a soccer ball. It quickly became obvious that they were skilled players: theycould dribble, fake, and pass with ease and dexterity. A boy joined them, and theyplayed keep away. I compared this scene to those of my teenage years. I couldnt recalla group of girls playing a sport spontaneouslyjust for fun. I couldnt recall a group of girlsplaying any sport with such ease and skill. I couldnt recall girls and boys playing togetheras equals. It was a pleasure to watch them, not only for their skill, but for their enjoymentof their play.

Downtown Deco

It was a long day; we had been touring since ten oclockand now, at five-thirty, we were take a walking tour of the Loopcalled Downtown Deco. This was a tour of buildings built in theart deco style of the 1920's and 30's. We met the tour at theRailroad Building, also called the Santa Fe building, which housesthe offices of the Chicago Architectural Foundation, whichsponsors the tours.

Our group wove its way through the crowded streets of the

loop and in and out of buildings to view the lobbies which werealso fashioned in the art deco in style. Wheeling my mother alongsidewalks, crossing streets, and through doors, I began toappreciate the difficulties of disabled people. However, I must say that everyone was verypatient and considerateholding doors open and moving to the side for my mother to view.It was quite gratifying.

As our tour was scheduled during Happy Hour, it included a drink at an Italian barand restaurant called Bella Bacinos. Having a warm and convivial atmosphere, and nowamong acquaintances of the tour, we continued our assemblage through dinner. One ofthe more interesting members of the tour party was a news broadcaster from Seattle asshe was in town for a convention of broadcasters. One of Chicagos major assets is itsplentiful supply of hotels, and so hosting conventions is a major part of its economy.

We returned to Bella Bacino three more times for dinner. One particular wasoutstanding: crispy polenta and mushroom ragu. Magnifico! The other major feature ofthe restaurant was its location: thirty feet from our hotel.

Two Tours

Elevator Door of the

Board of Trade

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The next day, we were both still tired from our walkingtour, and so I decided that it would be best to ride. We took abus tour around the Loop, and then a boat tour on the ChicagoRiver. Reminded by various buildings and locations, my motherrecalled her early days in Chicago. She had arrived in 1938 just

after graduating from high school. It would have been dauntingto start her life on her own in a city of three and a half millionafter living in a town of a thousand.

One of the significant changes in city planning is the useof the Chicago River. Initially it was a water way for Native

Americans and trappers to travel about; then it became terminusfor commercial shipping; then a sewer until the early 1900'swhen it finally dawned on people that the River flowed into LakeMichigan which was the source of the citys drinking water.Maybe that had something to do with the outbreaks of cholera.

Rather than take steps not to pollute the River, the city dug a canal to connect to the DesPlaines River, Illinois River and then Mississippi River; deeper than the Chicago River, theflow would be reversedbackward and toward St. Louis. The denizens of that city filedsuit, but in Chicago fashion, the dam that was temporarily blocking the canal waters wasblown up, presenting St. Louis and the court with a fait acompli. The current mayor,Richard M. Daley, employed a similar tactic when he wanted to close Megs Field on thelakefront and turn the area into parkland: he had bulldozers dredge trenches in therunway.Trudy Rafelson

We returned to our hotel about four oclock, and I knew that

my mother was exhausted. She lay down and was soon asleep. Ihad anticipated this situation, and so I had arranged to meet afriend for a drink at five oclock. This friend was a woman. Shehad attended Beloit College, and we were in the same class. In aschool of twelve hundred, you would expect to know, or at leastrecognize, everyone. I cant recall ever seeing her. We met at acollege reunion in 1993 and again in 1998. In both times, herhusband Max was in tow. She was also from Chicago, and wehad, and have, a lot in common.

Trudy and Max moved to San Antonio, Texas around theyear 2000, and Max passed away about 2004. Trudy returns toChicago to visit friends, her sister, and ailing mother. She toys with the notion of returningto Chicago.

We correspond every so often by E-mail. I informed my wife Kathy of ourcorrespondence, and I told her of our meeting before and after the trip.

My mother was too tired to leave the hotel, so Trudy and I had dinner as well. It

Isabel Flavia Daniels [Paolini}

Kathleen D. Paolini

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was a wonderful evening; I value our friendship.

Cemeteries

The next day we traveled by train to Elmhurst, Illinois in order to visit the cemeteries

in which members of my fathers side of the family are interred. My fraternity brother RichRosenberg met us at the station, then drove to his house and let us have his car. I hadthought I could just take a taxi to the cemeteries and then walk around to the variousgrave sites, but this was a great miscalculation on my part;

Richs offer to lend me his car saved the day.

An improvement over our previous visit a few years ago, it was now possible toconduct a search by last name on a computer screen, select the desired name, and thenprint a map with the address. The address for my cousin Linda was Niche 159, Tier 3 inthe Columbarium of the Holy Cross. Maps are quite helpful, but, as I discovered in Italy, ifthe locations roads and places are not marked, their value is greatly reduced. Forexample, if there is no sign at the Columbarium of the Holy Cross, its extremely difficult to

find the correct niche, especially when youre at the Christ the KingCrypts. Even in the correct columbarium, there were no markingson the tiers or niches. I was frustrated!

We sought out each of our known ancestors. To mysurprise, my cousin Carla, sister to Linda, was buried next to herparents, Charles and Emily Zickgraff. Emily was a Paolini, myfathers only sister. Poor aunt Emily! Her husband was a drunk,her oldest daughter Carla died at age 41 of breast cancer, and her

youngest daughter Linda was afflicted with Alzheimers disease at the age of 57, threeyears before Emily herself died in 2000. I noted that there was no inscription of Emilysname; probably because Linda was incapacitated and her husband John was busy takingcare of her. I pledged to have her name engraved upon my return. While neither mymother nor I are religious, we said a little prayer for Linda.

Carla Lautenschlager

Charles N. Zickgraff &Emily Paolini [Zickgraff]

Columbarium of the Holy Cross

Paolini Gravestone

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In the computer search for the Zickgraffs, I noticed a Baby Zickgraff that wasburied in the same tomb as my grandfather, grandmother and an uncle. My mother saidthat she knew Emily had lost a child before she had Carla and Linda, but she thoughtthere were twins. The database had only listed one baby, but as we viewed thetombstone, I noted that there are two urns. Could they symbolize the twins? Another

research project for the Paolini genealogy!

We visited the Del Grande mausoleum; entombed are Don Francesco, the father ofmy grandmother, his wife Gemma, his son Hugo, and hisyoung sonthe mysterious and recentlyidentifiedDonato. I peered into the mausoleum, andcould see the little altar on which rested two potscontaining dried flowers, some having fallen. I examinedthe lock and chain on the door: very rusty. Who was thelast person in this chamber? Probably my grandmotherbefore she died in 1969. I was quite sadden to think that

no one honors these people.

Lastly, I attempted to locate Angiola Paolini, themother of my grandfather, Ildebrando Alfredo Paolini.Surprisingly, her grave was not in the same location as the Paolini tombstone, but in adifferent lot on the other side of the cemetery. Alas, I couldnt find it in the time remainingas we wanted to catch the train at three twelve. A search for another day!

Pritzker Pavilion

Upon our return and after resting for a few hours, we traveled to Millennium Parkand the Pritzker Pavilion to listen to the symphony orchestra play works by:

Mendelssohn: Overture to Ruy Blas, Op. 95

Schum ann: Piano Concerto in A Minor, Op. 54

Haydn: Symphony No. 103, E-flat major

It was a gorgeous evening, a huge crowd, and wonderful music. But best, I knew that mymother enjoyed it.

The Love of my Mother

In addition to the wounds from her fall, my mother suffers

mild bouts of anxiety and depression. She takes a maintenancedose of an antidepressant but occasionally the dosage has to beadjusted. She said that she was feeling a bit anxious just beforethe start of my trip to Michigan, but I assured her that since I wouldbe with her at all times in Chicago, she had nothing to worry about,even though she is a worrier by nature. During the week, sheacquired the notion that she was leaving on Thursday rather thanFriday, but in examining the ticket, she was scheduled to leave the

Del Grande Mausoleum

Pritzker Pavilion

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same day as I was. So Thursday morning we had a leisurely breakfast in the room whileshe seemed to be obsessing about her train schedule and doing a little packing for ourdeparture the next day. But then she came over to me and handed me some small notesand an envelop. They were poems and a valentine that I had given her when I must havebeen very young; I had no recollection of writing them. I shant embarrass myself or my

reader by repeating them her except on that simple said: For the best mother in theworld. In the envelop was a current letter to mefrom my mother which started: To the best son inthe world. In short, it said how much she loved meand how much I meant to her. I was taken bysurprise; I was dumb-strickenhaving the windknocked out me. I forced the words from my lungs:I love you too, Mom. I gave her a hug.

Lincoln Park

We took a taxi to Fullerton Avenue and thenewly constructed Peggy Notebaert Nature Center.We toured the building but soon started our trip south through Lincoln Park, which runsalong Lake Michigan. It was a warm sunny day, but the lake effect provided a coolbreeze. It was delightful.

The last time I had visited the Lincoln Park Conservatory, we lived in Chicagoso itwas about 1978. It is an imposing structure, but it was in need of betterupkeep and repair. We entered, and I was blown away. It wasfantastic. The National Botanic Gardens on the Mall may have morevariety of plants, but none more spectacular. The Conservatoryconsists of four rooms - Palm House, Fern Room, Orchid House, andShow House. I took more photographs than I knew I could use, but Imarveled at the multitude of trees, leaves, and flowers.

We strolled through the outdoor gardens between theConservatory and the entrance to the zoo. As it was noon, there weremany families having a picnic lunch. The various sectionsof the garden were in full bloom, and the Eli Bates Fountainwas spewing water as children splashed in the pond.

We had lunch at the cafeteria of the ChicagoHistorical Society, and then toured its museum. I wasfamiliar with many of the exhibits and photographs ofChicago. Many of them were of events that occurred in mylifetime which I found somewhat disconcerting; my life wasbecoming history.

The only new fact that I found interesting was that

Lincoln Park Conservatory

Lincoln Park Conservatory

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Homeward Bound

Our day of departure required a schedule of logistics: returnthe wheelchair; drop my mother off at the train station; travel toOHare to catch my plane.

I returned the wheelchair at Water Tower Place and thenwalked back to the hotel, taking photographs along the way, inorder to accompany my mother and all our baggage to UnionStation. As my plane departed at 1:40pm before her 2:15departure, I would have to leave her unattended for three hours. Iwas sure that she was still uncertain as to the date of departure, soto make sure we checked in at the ticket desk where the clerkassured her that she was at the right place at the right time. Wealso were able to check her luggage. I left her in the boarding area with food and water forher trip, gave her a big hug, and prayed that she would successfully negotiate the

boarding.

With my two bags in tow, I oriented my way toward the Clinton Street subway stopand descended into the dungeon-like station. I had enjoyed the time with my mother, but Ialso felt the responsibility of taking care of her. Taking care of myself is difficult enough butat least I couldnt let myself down. I started to relax as I boardedthe train.

I have come to regard the ride on a Chicago subway train tobe a mind-blowing experience: perhaps a jerk-like start followed bysome spasmodic motions, then acceleration that produces ahowling noise that is deafening; the car yaws, shifts, and turns as itbarrels through the tunnel; one turns to look out the window, but theview is pitch black, then one notices that the glare from the paleflorescent light presents the reflection of your own vacant stare; atintervals there are openings in the tunnel that allow trains to switchtracks if necessary, and so the train jostles over the track switches;finally the brakes are applied as the train approaches a station thatwhizzes by and then rapidly comes to a halt; doors open and people shuffle out, then in,each quickly surveying the seats, determining their options, and then securing their choice;a recorded voice announces the doors are closing and the name of the next stop, usually

inaudible; and the whole performance is then repeated. I exitsomewhat numb and deaf, but relieved.

About two third of the way to OHare Airport, the trainemerges and travels at ground level on the median between theso-called express ways, which are really just slowly moving parkinglots. At one particular point in the journey, I could see the tallbuildings of the loop, just a silhouette of dark against gray in thehaze and over miles of two and three-flat buildings that comprise

Chicago River

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Chicagos residential neighborhoods. Its an incredibly big city. If I lived there, Im surethat I would traipsing all over the place, spending an inordinate amount of time in travel andhassle. Reston and Herndon are my orbit of existence; they contain ninety percent of whatI need and use. Its my size.

Chicago definitely has its magnificence and spectacular, its vitality and artisticcreativity. But the residential neighborhoods are often decrepit and ugly. Brick, asphalt,glass, and signs blot out the ground and the sky. There is the noise of cars, trains, andbuses in constant motion. In Reston, the houses are among the green, and one can viewthe sky without looking straight up. One can sit on ones deck, and listen to the birds andthe crickets and feel in touch with nature.

Chicago

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